


Soulmates & Cigarettes

by adorkablefae



Series: Soulmates & Cigarettes [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Body Dysmorphia, Cigarettes, Crack Treated Seriously, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eating Disorders, Multi, Nearly canon compliant, Platonic Soulmates, Reckless Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Relationships are Work, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, damaged people, smoking is bad for you but good for fics, soulmarks dont automatically make you good for each other, unfortunate soulmarks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorkablefae/pseuds/adorkablefae
Summary: With soulmarks like, ‘You’re not who I was expecting’, ‘Where should I put this?’, and ‘What’re you doin’ kissing my man?’, Darcy has some pretty severe self worth issues.  With marks like ‘I started smoking for you’ and ‘Ask me again after a few shots of tequila,’ Kila was fated for addiction.  Thank Mew Mew they have each other to help them through their misadventures with substances and soulmates.[Minor Edits made 6.28.17]





	1. First Drags

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested Listening:  
> [Soulmates & Cigarettes](http://spoti.fi/2tmp62N) (Playlist) on Spotify ; Smash that Shuffle button  
> Please don't squint at the MCU timeline; Side effects may include headache, frustration, and confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please don't smoke: [http://www.lung.org/stop-smoking](http://www.lung.org/stop-smoking/))

_Kila x Hugh_

 

“You don’t happen to have a cigarette I could bum do you?”

“... I started smoking for you.”

“Huh. Well, that’s… Sorry I guess. Next pack is on me?”

 

~*~

 

She’d always known she’d meet her soulmate in some smokey alcove. Call it intuition coupled with her words. Her mother tried her best to convince her that taking up smoking was really the worst thing for her, but it was practically fated that she’d start too young. Desperation lead to drastic measures. She was fourteen and hanging out with the smokers behind the bleachers. Might as well figure out how it was done so she didn’t make a fool of herself in front of her soulmate. She gagged.  

She’d mastered it by the time she said his words, of course. Well before in fact. She always was quick to learn. Probably because she was determined to do great things and didn’t see the point in doing anything half assed. Soon she was smoking packs a day; a habit hard to afford as a teenager. She didn’t know what her words to her soulmate were exactly, but started bumming most of her smokes anyway.  

Indeed, part of it was that she was broke. Part of it was her willingness to get ahead however she could. She was going places and didn't mind stepping on a few backs to get there. Free smokes were followed by free drinks, in turn followed by free drugs. By the time she graduated she’d seen the seedier side of every venue she could get into, smoked every kind of cigarette on the market, tried most of the club drugs (and others besides). Not to mention she was a bit of a lush…

 

~*~

 

_Kila x Darcy_

 

“Where do you want me to put this?”

“Ask me again after a few shots of Tequila.”

“You bitch! I started drinking way too young because of you!”

“Oh and growing up with that innuendo stamped on me was a fun time?”

“Well, we’re both fucked up then. Wait til you see my other marks. But really, where should I put the toaster oven?”

“Same. We’ll be perfect for each other then. You can put it by my electric kettle.”

“Oh my god, you have an electric kettle?!”

 

~*~

 

If it had been anyone else, Darcy probably would have slapped them. And yet, here they were, and apparently her roommate. She looked fairly harmless honestly. Curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, hands full of boxes and a teetering vivid purple toaster oven. She had a feeling they were going to get on just fine...  

Just as soon as they’d punished each other properly for some of their respective bad habits, caused in no small part by being covered in words that literally drove them to drink. She’d probably get around to enacting that revenge after a cuppa tea and couple pop tarts, toasted to perfection in that new toaster oven.

But seriously, this situation was going to require so much tequila. Not only had she just met her first soulmate, but they were fucking roommates. As in living together. Without walls between them. Darcy didn’t really know how to live without walls, at least the metaphorical kind.

 

~*~

 

_Steve x Darcy_

 

“You’re not who I expected.”

“You’re hot enough that I almost don’t care I had to live with those words.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“Ew. First thing you can do to make it up to me is never call me ‘ma’am’ again. Ever. It’s Darcy.”

“I really am sorry, Darcy.”

“Well, fuck me sideways, I made Captain America blush.”

 


	2. Albuquerque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please get help: [www.eatingdisorderhope.com](https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/))

They do punish each other for the words they’ve given each other, but it’s masked as friendship. Kila buys another bottle of tequila. Darcy drops spare change in the mason jar labeled ‘Cigarettes’, even though she doesn’t really smoke. They hold each others hair in grimy club bathrooms, then stick their mouths under the faucet to rinse the taste of bile and self abuse. They do another bump. Darcy shares her adderall prescription, or let’s Kila trade them for whatever chemical has struck her fancy this week. The only thing Kila does when Darcy purges for the first time in 8 months is hand her the mouthwash.

Undergrad passes in blur of hangovers and hastily completed homework, if they’re being honest. Neither of them can tell if they’d be better or worse off without each other, but they’re all they have so what’s it really matter? They get an apartment with Kila’s cousin Sharon after the obligatory first year in the dorms and the three of them manage to pay the rent on a rowhouse thanks in large part to the fact that Sharon’s secretly loaded. Not billionaire-philanthropist loaded, mind you, but she covers the difference after what they’d be paying for campus housing so they can all live a little more comfortably. Sharon fits right in; she’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain due to the fact that she’s trying to measure up to Peggy Fucking Carter.

The trio parts ways for graduate school; Kila and Darcy are headed to Culver to get degrees in business and political science respectively, and Sharon’s off to prove something with SHIELD, to whom is anyone’s guess. Kila doesn’t get it because she’s only ever been worried about proving her worth to herself. Darcy just hopes that she can lose another five pounds before she meets another soulmate, because of course no one expects a whale.

Kila, to her credit, thinks Darcy is beautiful and even tells her as much; Darcy isn’t buying it on account of Kila’s higher than Snoop Dogg.

 

~*~

 

_“You don’t happen to have a cigarette I could bum do you?”_

_“... I started smoking for you.”_

_“Huh. Well, that’s… Sorry I guess. Next pack is on me?”_

 

~*~

 

Hugh, to his credit, forks over the smoke and even lights it first; Kila thinks it's funny that they’re technically swapping spit before they’ve exchanged names.

The first thing Kila wants to do is tell Darcy, but she’s all the way in Puente Antiguo. The second thing Kila wants to do is get a drink and she suggests it. He looks relieved and they smoke another cigarette on the walk over to the nearest pub. It’s easier to find the conversation between drags. She’s got an internship at Stark Industries, nothing fancy; running papers and coffee mostly. He tells her he works for some Homeland Division or another that really needs an acronym but she’s too blown away by meeting her soulmate to put much more thought into it.

They wind up back at his place, and they’re tearing each others clothes off before they cross the threshold. He tastes like scotch and cigarettes, but so does she and she’s more concerned about him not popping the buttons on one of three blouses she has for work. She pushes him further into the room, her eyes skating around the studio apartment briefly as she pulls her shirt over her head. There’s a chair at a small table and she tosses her shirt across it before stepping out of her shoes.

He’s watching her hungrily and he pulls his shirt off too. She’s kissing him again and pushing him back against the bed and all he can think is _fucking finally_. He can’t remember the last time he connected with anyone in any real way and here’s his soulmate half naked in his bed.

The sky is turning navy when they finally roll away from each other. He shakes a cigarette out of a nearly empty pack. He tosses the pack down on the milk crate serving as a bedside table, taking the lighter there as he does. He lights the cigarette and passes it off to her for a drag.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need a carton.”

 

~*~

 

Darcy has Kila to thank for her internship in bumfuck New Mexico, though no one is sure if her thanks is facetious or not (including Darcy herself). On the one hand, Darcy missed the applications for internships because Kila insisted on ‘just one more round’. On the other, Kila singlehandedly tracked this one down, submitted her application for her, and made all her travel arrangements in the span of 36 hours so she could graduate on time. It’s worth mentioning that the entire reason Darcy is lacking six science credits in the first place is because she missed one too many morning classes because Kila had a tendency to need a babysitter when she was rolling; Molly was her drug of choice that semester.  

Darcy nurses a tequila sunrise in an airport bar on her layover in Atlanta. She’s also nursing a pretty sweet hangover, but something about hair of the dog and all that, right? Kila would have a pill or powder or hell, a cuppa tea for her in this moment, but they’ve parted ways for the foreseeable future. She pulls her phone out of her pocket to text her best friend, thanks her for a layover long enough to hit a bar, before settling up with the bartender and moseying on to her gate. She’s a little buzzed, and nearly misses her flight because she’s zoned out listening to her ipod. An absent minded businessman rolls over her toe with his rolling carry-on and brings her out of it in time to queue for boarding. She’s sandwiched between the window and a manspreader on the plane and spends the entire flight listening to Ke$ha and feeling like a sardine which does absolutely nothing for her self esteem.

She feels both too big and too small for this world, too incapable, too clueless, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things but taking up too much space anyway. She spots her bag on the conveyor; Kila tied a bright purple ribbon on it after she’d packed it for her, ever the pragmatist. And seriously, how in the hell was she supposed to survive without her soulmate and best friend? She pulls her phone out and texts her again, though Kila still hasn’t responded to the last one.

“I hate sauerkraut.”

The reply is nearly immediate this time and Darcy smirks at the picture of a snorkel.

 

~*~

 

_Darcy x Jane_

 

“Can you fit?”

“Just spent the last 4 hours impersonating a sardine, what’s one more?”

“Well, this is unexpected.”

“Yeah, I’m not what anyone expects.”

 

~*~

 

The truck is full to brimming with equipment, and Darcy does spend the next hour feeling like a sardine. Again. Darcy spends half of the trip making small talk with her new boss, and the other half cursing fate. She’d really prefer to not be literally stuck with every soulmate she meets. She’s supposed to spend the next six months here working directly for Jane and there’s absolutely nothing she can do to get out of it. She’s not certain she wants to, but feeling trapped makes her fantasize about it all the same.

Jane takes them to the only bar in Puente Antiguo. They warm up to each other quite well over La Paloma’s; Darcy is smitten with the new drink and texts Kila again to tell her to try one. (Kila’s shocked that of all the things they tried with Tequila in undergrad they never tried Squirt.) Darcy recounts how she met Kila and they laugh over the fact that Darcy is going to be living with yet another soulmate after knowing them all of a couple hours. She balks at Jane’s trailer when they finally turn in. Again with the lack of walls.

It goes fairly well though. The job’s easy. Carry this, fetch that, transcribe these. And Jane is… Jane. She’s too buried in her work to notice Darcy’s not eating properly. Darcy basically force feeds her, why wouldn’t she be feeding herself just the same?  

Kila sends her a care package with a fifth of tequila and flask printed with a snorkel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and associated Easter eggs from Weird Al's Albuquerque


	3. Love is a Promise Made of Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Pagan Angel & A Borrowed Car - Iron & Wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsllPN_3MS0)

It’s a tumultuous time at Stark Industries when Kila starts her internship. Tony Stark is being held hostage in Afghanistan, for fucks sake. She’s honestly shocked that her internship started at all, but she guesses she’s coming in low enough on the ladder that it’s still all in a day’s work. Still, things are tense to say the least. Mostly she keeps her head down and wears slacks because she can run the coffee order in them faster and pulling files from the bottom drawer doesn’t require any special maneuvers.  

Ironically, things get worse when Tony gets back. They’re all crowded around the TV in the third floor conference room watching Tony announce that SI is done with weapons. Stane is hastily trying to backtrack and do damage control, but her direct supervisor’s silence is all Kila needs to confirm that this is a Problem. Plus, she’s not a complete idiot. She got this internship on her own merit after all.  

Her workload triples. She takes it in stride, but there are more copies, more numbers to crunch, more filing, more meetings, more minute taking, more coffee, just _more_. Kila smokes more cigarettes.  

She catches a glimpse of Stane’s shiny bald head on his way to a board meeting. There’s whispers around the water cooler; The Board is going to file an injunction against Tony. Kila listens long enough to gather any information that might lead her to a job offer later, but tunes most of the rest out. She doesn’t think it much matters who’s running the company, so long as she still has a job. They’re all pretty detached from what’s happening in California anyway, the main focus in New York is the Stock Exchange.

Everyone falls ass over kettle when Tony drops one last bomb.  

“I am Iron Man”

 

~*~

 

The focus shifts to The Expo. She gets reassigned to work on it on account of there just aren’t enough bodies to do all the work. Kila fully intends to twist all of this into a job offer. There’s a review with the CEO at the end of her internship. She muses about what meeting Tony Stark will be like over a La Paloma; Darcy was right, it’s quickly becoming their drink of choice. Just because there’s two thousand miles between them doesn’t mean they’re not still psychically linked when it comes to how they drink tequila. She kills her drink and any further thoughts of work and goes to smoke another cigarette in another smokey alcove.

Meeting Hugh doesn’t curb her addiction to either. If anything since meeting him she smokes more cigarettes in more alcoves in between more drinks. When she’s not working, she’s killing time and brain cells with pills and powders in crowded clubs. Sometimes he texts her when he’s in town and sometimes he doesn’t. She likes to think she doesn’t drop everything when he calls, but even if she finishes her drink before she goes, she always goes to him.  

He’s not a very attentive boyfriend, if she can even really call him that. They screw on every available surface, go out to a pub more often than not, share cigarettes and occasionally books - though their tastes in both conflict. But he’s not her boyfriend, has never asked her to go steady. So she goes out and keeps doing the things she’s always done, except there’s no Darcy there to keep her in check. Every night is another club, another line, another lover.  

There’s another month in her internship when the Stark Expo opens. She takes Hugh with her, they drink and rub elbows with New York’s elite before cutting out early in favor of a more private party back at his place, just the two of them. She’s still up, thanks in no small part to the cocaine, when she gets a text about Tony on C-SPAN.  

She’s standing in front of the small television biting a nail when the noise wakes Hugh.  “What’s Tony done now?”

“‘Privatized World Peace’”

Hugh scoffs and gets up to start a kettle for tea. She lights a cigarette and rolls her eyes. Anytime Tony wants to stop making her job harder would be fine, she thinks. She clicks off the television when the kettle whistles and goes to pour herself a cuppa, but only after she gums the rest of the coke off the small coffee table. She’s stirring too much sugar in her cup while he does push ups.  

He’s on her the second she bends over to reach the half and half in the fridge, not bothering to resist the way his shirt rides up her thighs. He has her caged against the counter and is pulling her panties aside to get a taste of her, his tongue wicked against her core. Her cigarette burns itself out in the ashtray, her tea goes tepid, and she comes for a second time with him still on his knees before her.  

 

~*~

 

“Is this why you drink so much scotch?”

They're laying in his bed. Hugh’s slipped some boxers back on, but Kila has eschewed clothing for the weekend. Save the socks, albeit mismatched. Her toes get cold on the cement floor.

“Hmm?”

He doesn't look up from his book. He's laying on his stomach, reading something thick and written by some old white dude. Kila prefers short stories.

“‘That’s my scotch you’re drinking’”

She runs the fingernail of her ring finger along the soulmark at the base of his hairline, a cigarette perched between her first two fingers. She takes another drag and ashes it in the tray between them.

“What are you talking about?”

He’s looked up from his book now, as close to his full attention as she usually gets unless he’s inside her.

“Uh, this soulmark?”

She quirks a brow.

He shuts his book.

“... I have another soulmark?”


	4. Long Distance Drags

“You tazed him.”

“Yeah, he was freaking me out!”

“But he’s Jane’s soulmate.”

“You of all people know that soulmates aren’t perfect.”

“That doesn’t mean you should taze the guy!”

“He was half crazed! How was I supposed to know he was Jane’s soulmate!”

“Did you say that you hit him with a car?”

“Twice actually, but that was Jane.”

“And your ipod?”

“Stolen by government thugs.”

“Well, what does Jane think?”

“About my stolen ipod?”

“No, about her soulmate, you big doof.”

“Oh, well. It’s overshadowed by this whole Rainbow Bridge discovery, I think.”

“Sounds like Jane.”

“Yeah, if I had a soulmate who was cut like that I’d probably drop everything and spend literally all of my time worshiping his chest.”

“That fit, huh?”

“Like Superman. His torso is literally a triangle.”

“Well, you’ve got a couple soulmates to go yet, you might get lucky.”

“Speaking of getting lucky, what’s up with Hugh?”

“On assignment. Won’t say where. Everything is fucking classified. He would claim his underwear were classified if I hadn’t already seen them, I swear to god.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Jane’s soulmate? Literal God. Capital G. I propose we swear to ‘Thor’ from now on.”

“You really need to lead with the ‘Literal God’ information next time.”

 

~*~

 

Kila’s smoking a third cigarette by the time she gets off the phone with Darcy. Long distance sucks.

And she doesn’t even get to tell her about Pepper. She’s mad at Darcy for not leading with the ‘literal God’ part, but she’s more guilty of not leading with the important things her damn self. Meeting a soulmate is News, and their weekly phone dates are for sharing News, goddammit. It’s not like she could even tell Hugh if she wanted to, what with him on location on the other side of where Thor left his shoes. Huh, it really was that easy to change her inner script.

She’s two parts kicking herself for not fucking saying anything and one part still slightly trippin’ over her meeting that day with BAMF Pepper Potts, now CEO of Stark Industries, and apparently also her soulmate. She pours tequila and grapefruit juice in the same ratio.

It was admittedly slightly awkward. Okay, more than ‘slightly’. Neither of them had any clue what to say after they’d exchanged the words indelibly marked on their skin.

“... You know I can’t show you any favoritism. In fact, it will probably be harder to hire you on full time, if that’s even what you want, though from your CV it looks like you’ve worked very hard to get here.”

“I… Of course I… Still… Wait, are you saying you’d hire me if I wasn’t your soulmate?”

Pepper laughs, bright like clanging bells. “Oh, Kila, of course. You’re an exemplary intern, and honestly your file caught my eye as one for the short pile for the new PAs I’m going to need in my new role.”

“Hire me then. I didn’t work this hard to be turned away for something I can’t control.”

“Someone else will have to do your interviews, at least make the decision on paper,” Pepper concedes.

Kila’s beaming, “So, do you want to get a drink?”

But Pepper has to hop on a jet.

Yeah, long distance sucks.

 

~*~

 

Hugh is, in fact, precisely on the other side of where Thor left his shoes. That is, he’s in Puente Antiguo starring in another episode of My Life as a Background Agent. He secretly buys Darcy a drink, but he’s too practiced to get made. Really he just steps out for a smoke while the drink is delivered, but in this world perception is everything.

He’s never officially met Darcy, but feels like he knows her regardless. He’s not sure if Kila realizes just how often she talks about her primary soul mate. She and Darcy might not be romantically involved, but Kila still puts her first in everything. Little things tip him off that he’ll never be first in her book. It’s the ‘let me check in with Darcy’s before they head out for the night or ‘did I show you that meme Darcy sent’s when they’re otherwise completely tied up in each other and the way she always, always will pick up the phone for her even when he’s up to his knuckles in her. He gets that long distance sucks, but really? Is nothing sacred?

So he stubs out the cigarette he’s smoking purely for cover and heads back inside. She’s drinking something an entirely different color than the drink he sent her, which just goes to show that she could definitely keep up with him and Kila on their best day. He’d send her another if he didn't think he’d get caught at it this time around, but he busies himself with his low key stalking and notices the little quirks that she and Kila share. The hair twisting, the nail picking, the bite marks on the stirrer in her drink. The difference is the peanuts get shucked but not eaten.

He’s pulled out of his musings by words he’s been dreading.

“Hi, I’m your new wingman.”

Hugh turns to size up the guy; stocky, short, definitely an Agent. He’s seen him around, perched in ridiculous places. Does he think that purple shirt is subtle?

“I don’t need a wingman,” he responds measuredly. He's looking for an escape in the bottom of a glass, not someone else to tie him down.

“Everyone needs a wingman. Especially you.”

“Why’s that exactly?”

“Because you’re about as warm and fuzzy as a popsicle. Also, apparently we’re fated.”

“I gave up on fate a long time ago.”

Hugh would give anything for some distance. Whether it’s from Clint, “I’m your new wingman” Barton or his own thoughts, he can’t really decide. He excuses himself in favor of another cigarette, breaks his self imposed rule and calls Kila. ‘Long Distance Sucks,’ she says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, considers telling her about Clint, but honestly he doesn’t feel like explaining any part of his weird night. He’s been spying on her other soul mate, for fucks sake. She’s being cagey as well, so they hang up quickly. Getting distance from his situation by focusing on the two thousand miles between him and Kila is, surprisingly, not helpful.

When he heads back in the bar, the opening line of The Foo Fighters’ _Walk_ is there to rub it in. Yeah, okay, fine, long distance kinda sucks.

 

~*~

 

They save the world. Apocalypse averted. Then Thor leaves.

Jane’s a bit broken. Darcy’s crumbling beneath the weight. There’s a joke somewhere about being unworthy, but she’s too busy shoving her fingers down her throat to think of it. She freshens up and toasts poptarts for Jane, lavishes a cup of coffee with cream and sugar just the way the boss lady likes, delivers them to Jane with a smile. Her own thermos is secretly cucumber water, so she takes a couple extra long whiffs of Jane’s coffee longingly before she hands it over.

They get busy with the research. Darcy thinks about leaving, but how could she? There’s no distance between her and Kila that can’t be bridged without a phone call, and Thor is literally somewhere in the heavens. How can she call her soulmate but justify not helping Jane find hers?

So she stays. She helps, though she’s not sure how helpful she is. Jane would starve without her, and Selvig depends on her quite a bit, forgetful as he is. Yeah, the long distance phone bill sucks, but it sounds like Kila’s going to be hopping back and forth from coast to coast anyway. Oh, Kila couldn’t keep the Pepper Fucking Potts news from her for long. Even if she was in one place, Darcy is certain that Kila doesn’t have the time for her. Not between a shaky romance, a new job working for her just met soulmate, and all the boarding of jets and all. Nope, no time for Darcy, not beyond their weekly phone dates and meme descriptions of their days via text that probably violate their NDAs. Whoops, what’s a little treason between soulmates?

 

~*~

 

About a year later they pull Steve out of the ice. Ice he never planned on coming out of. And there’s nearly a century between him and his soulmate, not that he survived the fall…

The new words on his skin itch of betrayal. He can’t find solace in them when Bucky’s well beyond the reach of time. They tell him they have bridges for space travel now, can reach other worlds, but there’s no bridge for the distance he feels is between them called time and death, no phone call to assuage the longing. Just… Endless distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the MCU timeline: 
> 
> Woah buddy. Don't squint at it. 
> 
> I, however, must admit that I have grossly misinterpreted part of the timeline and I'm having trouble editing it to fit within a plausible timeline without needing the Time Gem. As I really like the flow of this chapter, I'm going to leave it up with the note that the conversation between Kila and Darcy couldn't really have happened when or the way it did. There would have been at least a handful of weeks between when Kila meets Pepper and when Darcy and Jane crash into Thor. 
> 
> I pledge to be more careful about the timeline in the future, but also please be gentle with me. Things are a bit timey-wimey in MCU anyway, especially once you try to start complying with Fury's Big Week. This fic flirts with that timeline but ultimately there's too much happening in a short span of time to stay strict to canon, and the canon isn't very clear to begin with.


	5. Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from [Youth - Daughter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEpMj-tqixs)
> 
> 1.5.18 ETA: finally settled on a particular lyric from this song for the chapter title: 'heaving through corrupted lungs'

Kila’s nursing a glass of scotch that cost more than she makes in a year. Well, probably. She didn’t look very closely at her new benefits package. It’s very expensive scotch, in any case. Tony throws her kind of party, but she could do without the girls who have lost their tops. Who are they trying to impress? Amateurs. She does take some cell phone footage for Darcy of the blonde girl and Tony’s approximation of skeet shooting.

She tucks her phone away as discreetly as she can manage when she sees the look on Pepper’s face. Pepper is not pleased. Worried, even. Kila goes to her, but Rhodey crashes in and ruins everything before she can reach her, and winds up losing track of her in the chaos. It's irrelevant really, she's staying with her while she's in Malibu. She'll catch up with her later.  

She downs the last of the scotch in her glass before abandoning the crystal on the lawn. What's she gonna do, go back in? No thanks; Tony and Rhodey are busy destroying the house, and it's not like the glass will fit in the tiny clutch she's carrying.

She has a mind to find a club to lose herself in ‘til the hour grows a little later, but her better judgement wins out. Pepper is going to need her, whether it's for PR control or emotional support she doesn't know, but Kila steels herself for both. She calls the towncar and directs them to Pepper's, let's herself in the quiet house and shoots Pepper a text saying she's 'home'.

It's kinda odd to call it home, but there's no other word for the temporarily shared residence. More and more of Kila's things are appearing in the 'guest' bedroom, though this is only her third trip down to Malibu. She has a toothbrush in the bathroom and has claimed the purple towels Pepper had stashed in a closet. That's way more than she can say about Hugh's place; though she's never there long enough for that to be of consequence. Still, Hugh is her lover and seems to be her primary soulmate by fate's design. Figuring that out in the real world was proving much more difficult.

She pulls off her dress in favor of more practical attire. Pepper says she'll be home ( _there's that word again_ ) soon. Leggings and a modest knit top, then. She shoots Darcy the Iron Man skeet shooting video followed by a gif (Buffy says ‘We’ll be going now,’) and then checks the tabloids while smoking a cigarette on the balcony. She loves her new StarkPhone and is planning on getting Darcy one for her birthday. It definitely beats the Galaxy II she’s carrying by a mile.

Pepper's key rolls the tumblers in the lock, and Kila brings her laptop to the living room, ready to work if necessary. She hasn't known Pepper long enough for her mentor to fall apart around her, at least she doesn't think. That's not the dynamic of their soulbond, but all Kila's soulbonds are odd in their own way. Pepper shoots her a forced smile; it's a grimace really.

"That bad, huh?"

Pepper just plops her purse down on the coffee table and... flops... as much as Pepper Fucking Pott's could ever be said to 'flop', down on the sofa and removes her shoes. 

"Do you wanna do damage control, or eat ice cream and I'll tell you what a slut Natalie Rushman is?"

And like angels singing, Pepper _laughs_. She covers her mouth quickly and gives Kila a scared look. Kila sits down on the sofa next to her and squeezes her knee in forgiveness. "Damage Control, but maybe the gossip too. Not just about Natalie but..."

Kila interrupts, "Okay, but did you SEE her leopard print dress, though?! And do not get me started on the blonde bimbos throwing champagne and watermelons. There are better ways to get attention ladies, and squealing like a pig is not one of them."  

She gets up, still blabbering about the less serious aspects of the party, grabs a pint of Ben & Jerry's and two spoons, before flipping open her laptop. She lays the second spoon next to Pepper as a challenge, before digging into the carton herself.

"The leopard print really was a bit overwrought," Pepper allows.  

They sit closely and monitor the gossip, following up through the correct channels where appropriate, knees touching. Kila has her feet tucked under her thigh for a spell, but they turn in to their separate rooms once the chatter online dies down. No doubt there will be commentary in the morning but there's nothing JARVIS can't flag and leave in their inbox.

Kila smokes a cigarette on her balcony after she hears Pepper tuck herself into bed. Kila muses about where ‘home’ is and what it means. If it’s only where she hangs her hat, New York is her home. There’s another tick in the New York column when she considers Hugh, and another on account of being where she has the easiest access to various substances to abuse. But it doesn’t feel like home, the only place that feels like home is Darcy, and that’s not a place. Here with Pepper is starting to feel like home, but she has no attachment to this specific place. It’s a glorified hotel room. But Pepper herself is starting to feel like home, a thought that catches Kila by surprise.  

She smokes another cigarette, because she doesn’t think she’s ready for a soulbond as wholesome as what is developing with Pepper. Okay, she smokes three more cigarettes.  

 

~*~

 

Peter is _stoked_ about his Iron Man helmet and repulsor gloves. He knows Aunt May can’t really afford it. He’s 10, not _stupid_. He is even more stoked about the Stark Expo. Ned’s mom was nice enough to bring them, because there’s no way Aunt May can spring for the passes too. Or get the shift covered at the hospital to bring him, for that matter. Still, he thanks both of them for literally making his dreams come true. He doesn’t say it like, but he’s never been more happy in his life and he thinks they got the point.  

Ned is asking if he can try on his helmet, but like, no way dude. He’s his best friend, sure, but this helmet is literally the best thing that’s ever happened to him. They don’t get very close to the stage, but Peter’s eyesight is pretty good. Aunt May is always telling him he has a good eye anyway, whatever that means. That he spots stuff quick, he guesses.  

The Hammer Drones are not nearly as cool as his Iron Man helmet, thank you very much, and his helmet isn’t even really _real_. But then Iron Man is on stage and he screams and claps louder. Ned looks annoyed that Peter basically shrieked in his ear, but oh well. Iron Man is his idol.

His ‘good eye’ doesn’t fail him, because he’s already bolting for the exit when the glass ceiling falls. If he weren’t 10 he might notice the metaphor but, well, _he’s 10_ and the glass ceiling is falling. Everyone is screaming and running, but he gets outside only to realize that Ned is probably still inside. He turns around to go back and save him, because he’s 10, not a coward. It’s his duty to save his friends, just like Iron Man.  

He freezes when he comes face to mechanical face with a Hammer Drone. He gathers his wits after a moment and raises his ‘repulsor’ glove. No, he doesn’t actually think it’ll do any good, but at least he went out fighting and trying to save people, right? Suddenly the repulsor fires and he’s startled because uh, he _knows_ his gloves aren’t really real, there’s no way but—

“Nice work, kid.”

Peter is too stunned to speak. Which is odd because he _always_ has something to say but... No one meets their soulmates this early. And his is _Iron Man_. What is he supposed to say anyway? He’s 10, and yeah okay, maybe a little stupid. And tongue-tied. And he nearly died and Tony-freaking-Stark and there’s explosions and Iron Man just blasted away a HammerTech drone right in front of his face!

A lady in a serious looking pantsuit approaches him and is asking him where his parents are. She’s pretty. Curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, square glasses perched on her slightly upturned nose. He finds his words again finally, though not really the ones he wants. He babbles something about Ned and his mom and Aunt May at the hospital and his address near by and Iron Man and… He takes a deep breath, followed by several more frantic ones. He can tell she didn’t understand him through the helmet so he tugs it off and _wow,_ he can suddenly breathe much better. His aunt works at New York Presbyterian he manages.

She gives him a small smile and takes his hand, leads him away from the fray despite his weak protests about his friend. They find the ambulances and firetrucks with their flashing lights, but the lady leads him ahead to a row of buses waiting to ferry the masses away from the fires and destruction. She confirms with an officer in blue before loading them onto a bus headed for the hospital.  

He listens to her chatter and leaves his hand in hers while they make the trip to the hospital. About the Expo, Stark Industries, Tony Stark, was he a big Iron Man Fan? Well,Tony/Iron Man and his good friend Col. James Rhodes were gonna take care of everything, not to worry. She is sure that Ned and his mother are on a bus of their own and he will see them soon. They’ll find Aunt May at the hospital and if he needs anything after this here’s her card. The card she tucks in his pocket says: Kila Hawthorne — Stark Industries. Stark Industries will take care of whatever he needs or Ned’s family needs. Kila tells Aunt May the same when they find her, and squeezes his hand for good measure before passing him off to her.  

Aunt May fusses over him and promises to call the Leeds’ right away, but first let’s get him settled in the nurse’s lounge, yeah? Yeah, okay, he could do with a break honestly. He doesn’t tell her about Iron Man being his soulmate, just worries at the words on his wrist with his other hand. He isn’t sure he is going to tell anyone, really, because who would believe him? He’s 10, no one meets their soulmate at 10. Plus there’s that whole his soulmate is Iron Man thing. Not even Aunt May would believe him, especially after the night he’s just had.  

He hates that he’s 10. Hates that he’s just a “Kid.” If his soulmate is Iron Man, it means he has something real to offer the world, that he can do real good. Help people. He wants to do that. But he’s 10. He doesn’t want to be a kid anymore. Wants to grow up already and Save the World with his SoulMate, Iron Man. He falls asleep staring into the face of his Iron Man helmet, wishing it was Tony, wishing he could say his words back, so maybe someone would believe him and know that Peter wasn’t just a kid. He dreams about flying.

 

~*~

 

Steve dreams.  

He’s falling, Bucky is falling; both his own soul and his soulmate’s are falling. The soulbond falls. Falters. He trips in his dream. Trips before he can catch the falling words, before he can catch _Bucky_. Stumbles, falls short. And then there’s unfamiliar words rushing past him, into him, cutting him open, wounding him. His shield can’t protect him, they pass through like ghosts before their edges slice his flesh, leaving it stinging and red.  

The dream is endless, stretching in front of him, a cruel allegory for the endless expanse between him and his soul.  

He’s watching it all fall again, the bond cracking open and the two halves of his soul falling apart. He can touch the broken pieces but no matter how hard he tries, he can't get them to fit back together. There’s pieces missing or he has extra pieces, he can’t figure out. Both, neither. It’s wrong, whichever it is. Even more words start to cut at his skin, and he definitely has too many pieces now.  

As hot as the words sting against his skin, he’s so very cold. Endless, like the dream. Everything he feels, everything he _is_ , is endless. Endless cold, endless dreaming, endless words cutting, endless falling. In another dream it might be euphoric. He can imagine being complete, full, whole. He used to be, when he fought back to back with his soulmate; either in alleys or battlefields, it didn't much matter to Steve. But now it’s gone and there’s just endless longing, the feeling as icy as the chill around him.  

He wakes, only to find himself in his old bed and realize that it’s more of the same dream. He’s running now, through the docks, chasing a car, running from words behind him, trying to catch him. He wakes so many times to find himself in the wrong time; he’s a kid with Bucky in the school yard, he’s burying his mother but he’s already bigger than he should be, he’s kissing the wrong girl, he’s flinging himself on a grenade. He flings himself on a lot of grenades in the dream, but the shrapnel is more words.  

When he wakes again, he doesn't recognize the room, but does recognize the ballgame on the radio. He should be in the stadium, laughing with Bucky. But he’s not. And he’s not cold. He’s still not sure it’s not a trick, that he’s not still dreaming. The dame isn’t giving him any clues, and he’s running again. Stumbling again, falling again, scrambling to catch… what? He’s not sure but he runs from cars, from the cold, and from the pain, and straight into an endless expanse of… glowing pictures? That move? Endless noise, endless smell of metal and asphalt, garbage and rain.

He must be awake because this is all _new_. The only new things in his dream were words and he could never read them, though he guesses he’ll be able to read them on his skin now. Before he can look for them, there’s a negro in a very serious leather coat and eye patch in front of him. He can’t hear what he’s saying over the endless noise, the din of people and cars and… advertisements? And everything is endlessly brighter; he blinks and gawks and if he hadn’t spent all that time dreaming, he would swear that _this_ was the dream, but this is nothing like his dream.

He’d trade his endless dream for this nightmare.  


	6. Words As Weapons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Words As Weapons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zbe3RdLlJs) by Birdy. 
> 
> Further suggested listening:  
> [Soulmate & Cigarettes](http://spoti.fi/2tmp62N) (Playlist) on Spotify ; Smash that Shuffle button.

“Haaaaaave you met Hugh?

“Betcha a Benjamin that I know him better than you do.”

“Who? I don't know this Hugh person. Hugh who?”

“C’mon Cindy Loo, next round of drinks is on you. I assume you know how Hugh takes his scotch?”

“Straight, much like he’s convinced himself he is.”

“If anyone can convince him to have a threesome with us, it’s you.”

 

~*~

 

They’re at MacLaren’s, their favorite New York bar. Hugh just chuckles to himself when Clint picks Kila out at the bar to ‘introduce’ him to and plays along. He’s standing back during their exchange, rolls his eyes, lets them have their newfound camaraderie. The idea of a threesome isn’t… at all what he wants. He knows Kila would be into it, she’s into everything. Boys, girls, multiples of either or both, knows she’ll do lines of coke off pretty girls’ breasts, and it’s not that the idea isn’t stimulating, but he doesn’t want to _share_.

And there’s the real issue in their relationship. He knows that Clint’s words aren’t on her skin, but the easy way she’s talking to him makes Hugh nervous anyway; he’s not even so threatened by any of the words on Kila, not even the ones she’s yet to meet, but he is threatened by everyone else, and it seems that doesn’t exclude his own soulmates. There’s a lesson here, but it’ll be a long time ‘til he learns it. He shouldn’t be scared. Their words mean that she’ll always come back, better or worse.  

And it feels like they always come together at their worst. And it’s fitting really, because who else besides your soulmate can handle you at your worst? He’d really prefer some better now and again, but they’re all much too damaged and self destructive for much in the way of better moments. Sure, there’s rolling in the sack, getting lost in each other, but he’s not sure those moments qualify as ‘better’ and aren’t just a distraction from the ‘worse’ they’re surrounded by. He longs for the small things, knows he’ll never get them. Their lifestyles, their shared dysfunction, won’t allow it. He’s brooding now and knows it, tries to shake it.

His soulmates, woah, _weird_ , are carrying their three drinks to their usual booth. He’s not supposed to have to share Kila with Clint, but they’re thick as thieves and leaving him behind. He slides in next to Kila, reaching for his drink with one hand and her hand with his other. He takes a healthy pull on the scotch, squeezing the glass to avoid squeezing her hand. His left hand twitches anyway, _traitor_. Kila’s asking how they met and—

“It’s classified,” he butts in before Clint can fuck everything up.  

Clint is a practiced spy and rolls with it, continuing to joke with Kila easily.  

Hugh mostly nurses his scotch while they get to know each other. He isn’t sure that he can classify it as that, because they are acting like they’ve known each other forever. Maybe it’s to be expected; Kila’s got unusually high charisma and Clint is literally trained for this. They both use their skills for work, both charming all kinds of people.  

Hugh is _not_  charming. He toys with Kila’s slender hand in his own, catches himself fidgeting, laces his fingers with hers to stop himself. His soulmates, yeah still weird, are almost done with their drinks, so Hugh downs the rest of his scotch and nods toward the door in signal. Says he’s gonna grab a smoke.

Kila squeezes his hand and says she’ll tag along. She slurps the last of her tequila something or other through the stirring straw. Follows him out the side door to the alley where they can smoke in relative peace. She checks her purse for her smokes, the packs empty, and gets an idea. She can see that her soulmate’s upset, she’s not stupid.

“You don’t happen to have a cigarette I could bum do you?” she asks with a sweet smile.  

He turns to look at her, leaning innocently in the alcove of a window. He softens a bit, because indeed, their words will keep them together for better or worse. This moment is part of the ‘better’ he thinks, probable lung cancer notwithstanding. She’s awfully cute, blue eyes twinkling lovingly at him from behind her glasses. Maybe all the worse parts are worth it for this.

“Let’s share.”

 

~*~

 

Darcy is ‘sharing’ a plate of nachos with Jane over drinks. By sharing, she’s mostly picking at the tiniest pieces and eats the tomatoes and lettuce bits more than the cheese, chips, sour cream… Yeah, her stomach flips and she breaks a chip into smaller and smaller pieces to avoid being obvious that she’s not actually eating. Jane munches away in her depressed oblivion.  

They share pretty much everything, but still Darcy doesn’t share about her avoidance of food. She’s mostly there for Jane to share with, honestly. Share her feelings about Thor leaving her behind, share her theories about how to fix the bridge, even share a bed with most nights, however platonically. Jane shares her biggest fears and anxieties, shares freely her pain, and Darcy just shares her presence, platitudes, proclivities towards alcohol.  

Even with all her bad suggestions, Darcy is as getting better at taking care of Jane. Keeps her fed, mental breakdowns to a minimum, encourages her to lose herself in the science instead of depression. She’s slowly getting better at taking care of herself in the process. It’s been forty-two days since she last puked, anyway. She still isn’t eating much, but over a thousand calories a day has gotta count for something. Okay, it’s mostly liquid calories, but she’s doing better okay? Let’s drop it, she’s sick of thinking about it. Obsessing over it.  

So she obsesses over Jane instead. Fusses after her, is generally up her ass. Kila has clearly abandoned her, no matter how many declarations of love her best friend sends her in a week.  

Occasionally she obsesses over Mr. _‘You’re not who I expected,’_ and _‘What’re you doin’ kissin’ my man?’_ instead. They obviously come as a matched set, and she’s gonna mess up their lives getting in between them. Part of her wants to do it anyway, just to punish them for making her live with these marks. Grow up teased for them, have everyone making assumptions about the kind of girl she was based on them.  

Oddly, it’s Jane she should be most angry with, Ms. _‘Can you fit?’_ , but Jane is too broken to punish any more than she’s already hurting. So Darcy keeps sharing her time and bad habits. They both obsess over every little thing ‘til Jane gets a call.  

 

~*~

 

SHIELD ships Steve off to the “Retreat” after way too many tests. He drew the line when they wanted to document his new soulmarks; they were private business, thank you very much, he didn’t know what kind of world he woke up in if it’s normal practice to include soulmarks on medical records. Honestly, he didn’t even want to admit they existed in the first place, let alone mark them down on his records. Still, they were private, his feelings about their existence aside.  

He woke up with three fresh marks. Two quips about his looks and _‘Don’t say it. Don’t you say it.’_

Same, Mystery Soulmate Number 3, same.  

He’s gotta wonder about the first one, though. What’ll he say to them to have them so upset about his words on their skin? _You’re hot enough that I almost don’t care I had to live with those words.'_ He’s sorry, he guesses, doesn’t want to cause anyone pain, but can we not make this about his new body for one minute?

And then there’s _‘Who’s Mister Chisel Chest?’_ , and just. Ugh. Let’s _not_.

 _‘Don’t say it,'_ indeed.  

He’s thankful for the seclusion; No chance of meeting soulmates here. No chance of meeting anyone here, thank God. (SHIELD tells him it’s likely he will meet a ‘god,’ but Steve is fairly certain that God doesn’t dress like _that_.) Supplies are being delivered by air, so not even any chance of interaction there. He prefers it this way.  

When he woke up, everything was loud. Here, there’s nothing but quiet for miles. It’s perfect, really. He’s mostly too resentful to appreciate it, but looking out on the small lake is the closest he can come to content since he woke.  

Then the faucet starts to drip.  

_Drip… Drip… Drip…_

Great. Just fucking great. He stalks over to the sink and twists the handle. Except it comes off in his hand and there’s water spraying everywhere. At first he’s shocked, getting drenched in the first moments he’s standing there frozen. He scrambles and manages to find the shut off valve under the sink, but not before the rest of the kitchen is just as soaked as he is. Luckily he’s got a better grip on his super strength this time, because he doesn’t over exert the threading this time and the water just gurgles to a stop with a clunk from down the line.  

He pulls off his wet shirt up over his chiseled chest, wiping a bit of the water off of his equally chiseled jaw with it in the process. He rings the garment in the sink before using it to wipe up some of the water on the window sill and counter surrounding, tossing it in the sink to survey the rest of the damage. There’s water covering everything from the small kitchen to the small sofa on the other side of the dining table.  

There’s a newfangled mop tucked beside the ice box, no knitted wig, just a fat sponge and a leaver. He figures it out quickly and takes care of most of the water on the floor, grumbling all the time. Finds some towels in the linen closet, squeezes what water he can out of the sofa, lays the kitchen rug and wet towels over the line outside, breaks it in the process.  

He’s got a sink and a clothesline to fix now. He tries to wipe off the dining table and splits the wood in his heavy-handedness. Another thing to fix. He gives up and sinks to the still damp floor, laying back with a heavy thud of his head on the floor.  

He spends the next months alternately breaking, fixing, breaking, fixing, breaking things. He gets tired of fixing the same things over and over again, wishes he could break his new soulbonds and fix Bucky’s death. Calls for a lift back to New York, stops breaking random stuff and starts busting punching bags.  

Fury finds him there, offers him a mission. Might as well break some faces and fix somebody else’s problems, there’s no fixing his. He takes the punching bag with him for good measure though. Breaking his knuckles repeatedly seems to help a little. They fix themselves, after all.

 

~*~

 

Hugh is several knuckles deep in her when her phone pings. She can tell by the tone that it's Pepper; They've got wheels up in the morning so she has to check it and she's at least three more minutes from orgasm, so she pushes Hugh off of her and reaches for the phone. Hugh rolls his eyes, though it's more for show than anything. At this point, he's used to work interrupting their sex life.

She's gotta get to the airport pretty much now, apparently. Date night is cancelled on account of Tony & SHIELD. She tells Hugh that she hates his employer and he should blame them for the cockblock. He reaches for his phone, because SHIELD doesn't call in Tony Stark for Nothing. Yeah, they need him on the search effort. There's a briefcase.

He lights a cigarette of his own and grabs a (mostly) fresh uniform shirt. What, he was supposed to have three more days of leave. There's a whole fresh uniform in his SHIELD locker for this reason, he'll change when he reports.

Kila is pulling on her socks and snuffing out a not-nearly finished cigarette so she has her hands free. Her suitcase is with her; she was planning on leaving from here in the morning after several rounds in the sack with her boyfriend. She pulls out some athletic wear that can pass for business extra-casual. At this hour, it doesn't really matter but she likes to dress for 'work' anytime she's flying on the StarkJet.

Dressed, she throws the rest of her things in the supple pebbled Etain grey with Palladium hardware Birkin that Pepper(Tony) got her for her birthday. It's honestly a glorified rucksack, but appearances are everything. Okay, it’s a status symbol, but she fills it with all the same things she’d keep in her much more reasonable little Coach backpack. Honestly, she feels a little awkward with the bag, especially here. It’s the most expensive thing in the flat, without question. Status symbol, indeed. Irreverently, she drops it on top of her small rolling suitcase by the door.  

She kisses her soulmate, reaching behind him and swiping the nearly full pack of cigarettes from behind him with a grin against his mouth. He catches her at it of course, grabs her wrist, wraps his hand around hers with the pack still in it. Flicks the pack open and guides her thumb to slide up a cigarette, taking the offered smoke in his mouth. His other hand is still around her waist, holding her against him. The look in his eyes is playfully threatening, releases her wrist and pulls the smoke from his mouth with a smirk. So much for her fresh panties she just put on.  

He kisses her again, sweetly this time, and sees her out the door. He grins stupidly at the closed door for a longer moment than he will ever admit to. Coitus Interruptus or not, he’s gone on the girl. He’s filing this playful goodbye under ‘better’ when his phone rings.  

It’s Agent Coulson. Why is Director Fury’s right hand man calling him? He’s only a level 5 agent, Coulson is level 8. He answers on the third ring.  

“Barton’s been compromised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @tafferling for the drippy faucet prompt when I got stuck. 
> 
> I love hearing from you! Thanks to everyone who has read this so far <3


	7. Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Or: I've been fucking around while you've been saving the world)
> 
> [Long Way Down - Robert Delong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdHKIx6smag); [Collapse - Zeds Dead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTjRDhR5q0M%0A)
> 
> Further suggested listening:  
> [Soulmate & Cigarettes](http://spoti.fi/2tmp62N) (Playlist) on Spotify; Smash that Shuffle button.

“Jane…”

She spends a year helping Jane attempt to open a portal through space to reach her (alien/god) soulmate, and there he is on CN-fucking-N. Electrocuting aliens and flying around all nimbly bimbly from skyscraper to skyscraper.  

“Not now, Darcy!”

Hah. Dismissed out of hand. Her soulmate has no clue that she found Thor, too focused on her own personal crisis of the moment to realize that maybe, just maybe, Darcy found something.

“Jane.”  

Further ignored. Of course. Darcy couldn’t possibly have something important to say. Darcy doesn’t even matter, really. She pulls out her cell phone.

_“Jane.”_

Jesus, getting that woman’s attention is like Kila trying to get Hugh to tell her anything beyond ‘it’s classified’. She shoots Kila a message. Hopefully the network isn’t totally jammed; though they both have StarkPhones now, so it’s likely the message will go through: _"R U OK? THOR?!”_  

**“Jane.”**

“Darcy, not-”

_**“Thor!”** _

“What?”

Hah! That’ll teach her…

“Oh my god…”

They watch the footage on Darcy’s laptop. The very small part of Darcy that can still be proud of herself grows a little bigger; she can still hack with the best of em. Okay, it doesn’t grow that much, on account of it was just a SHIELD firewall, but still. It grows a little. Grows to match her outside appearance. She masks her insecurities by snarking the SHIELD scientists about their puny firewalls and then ignoring them and the demons in her head in favor of watching Thor kick some serious alien ass.  

Her phone buzzes in her hand and oh thank Thor, Kila is on the StarkJet with Pepper and not, in fact, in the Tower that looks to be the point of origin for the portal. Kila knows jack about Thor, but does say that Literally Everyone got called in on this one. Everyone except Jane (and Darcy by extension) that is. Hell, they probably got shipped out here to BumFuck, Norway because SHIELD didn’t want them in the mix up. Thor only knows why, they’re the foremost experts on this stuff, well, except for…

Selvig. They’ve got Selvig, they have to. She texts Kila back to inquire about that specifically but all she gets back is a stream of consciousness in all caps about how how the fuck should she know anything beyond the fact that she’s watching her soulmate watch their soulmate try to save the world or kill themselves, probably both.

And yeah. The ironic fact they are living identical parallel moments isn’t lost on her. Unbidden, the thoughts come: if someone else is living this moment, what is the point of her living at all?

 

~*~

 

**An indeterminate number of days earlier**

 

“Doors open from both sides.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the room fills with a blue light and his ears pop from the pressure change. He knocks the director out of the way of some kind of energy blast, gets his bell rung something fierce. He hauls himself up by the railing, gathering his wits about him. Glad he was there to protect the Director, but wishing in this moment he was still up in his nest so he could get a full view of the situation. Clint turns and—

“You have heart…”

And he’s falling. Falling through inky blackness, swallowing him whole. He’s drowning in black, watching his life through his eyes like it’s a television too far away. His essence is here, in the black hole he fell into, but something else is driving his body around, because he feels his hand holster his gun, feels his body fall into parade rest, knows his body will do whatever task his new commander asks of it. He screams, but there’s no sound.  

His body is continuing to betray him; It’s alerting Loki that the Director is stalling, intending to bury them all. His body and his essence are in agreement about the fact that they do not want to get buried under several tons of concrete and rebar. He is grasping for something, anything, any way to get out of this pit. But it’s not so easy as conjuring a mental rope to climb, and he hysterically laughs to himself because of course it’s fucking not. When he predicted everything going to shit, he sure as fuck didn’t predict this. He knew this was a dangerous assignment, thought he’d been on more dangerous assignments than this, but nope. He has literally lost himself, no way to get back. No way to get back to Laura, Nat, Hugh, Phil…

The image on the distant window to his eyes shocks him out of his spiral of self pity.

No, he won’t. He can’t. He’s watching his hand aim his gun at the Director.  

From down in the blackness, he manages to pull his shot. Puts it in his chest where there’s kevlar in the way instead of through his other eye.

Then he loses the window and he’s lost in pitch black.

 

~*~

 

“Barton’s been compromised.”  

Coulson hears it over the radio, and his stomach drops through the quickly crumbling floor. But there’s no time for that, he’s got men to get out of the rapidly collapsing building. Fury’s worried about the tech and the tesseract, and has given orders that Coulson needs to worry about them as well. There’s a lot more at stake than some weapons, he thinks, prays that somehow, someway, they all come out of this with Barton in tact. It’s selfish to wish for his soulmates safety ahead of that of their whole planet, and he knows it, but his whole world is collapsing like the building.

“Barton’s been compromised,” he tells Agent Hudson. 

No one else was going to call the low level agent who just so happened to be Clint’s soulmate. It’s not strictly information that he needs, but it’s also not classified above his level, and he should know, dammit. He considers for a moment telling the younger man he understands exactly what’s going through his head right now, offering some kind of solace in the knowledge that they share a soulmate. But the fact that Coulson and Barton are soulmates is classified above Hudson’s level, so he tells him to meet him at the base instead. Pulls rank and assigns him to the helicarrier.

“Barton’s been compromised.”

It is, absolutely, information that Romanov needs. Masks his absolute terror behind jokes and relays her mission. The mission, overtly, is to recover their lost artifact, prevent whatever Loki plans on doing with it, but the mission is really to recover their soulmate. Bring him back into the fold, and there are no better agents for that task than Hudson and Romanov. He settles the phone calls, settles his business with Tony, shuttles Pepper to the airport, shuttles his feeling off in the meantime, but it’s all settled for now and he lets himself collapse.

Barton’s been compromised.

 

~*~

 

“What do they need the iridium for?”

“It’s a stabilizing agent.”

When Bruce pictured _‘It’s a stabilizing agent’_ he did not picture Tony Stark, but okay, he’s already freshly soul bonded to one Avenger in the room, why not another. He watches him bounce around the room, like some kind of over stimulated toddler. Shakes his head a little when he realizes it’s a cover so he can slip a bug on the helm.  

He steals a glance at the redhead. She’s awfully reserved compared to the first words he has from her across his thigh. Two soulmates in as many days, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to handle all of this. Well, for starters, he’s angry, but that’s not new nor is it relevant to the situation. He still has his wits about him and there’s no reason to punish them for his shortcomings. So he watches, trades science jargon with his new soulmate, focuses on working the problem.

“That man is playing Galaga.”

(Hugh is indeed playing Galaga. There is literally nothing else for him to do at this stupid fucking terminal besides press whatever button and execute whatever command Hill or Fury gives him, and there’s nothing literally nothing he can do for Clint from this stupid fucking terminal either, so he is moping and playing Galaga. He was appreciative that Coulson got him, ostensibly, closer to the action, but he is pretty fucking pissed at jockeying this stupid fucking terminal.

He wishes he had some fucking scotch. Or a cigarette. He can usually check his addiction when he’s on assignment, but he’s never been on assignment on the fucking helicarrier before, and there sure as fuck isn’t a smoke lounge on this thing. The Avengers are gathered around the conference table behind him, trying to find the tesseract, trying to to find Clint, and all he can do is sit here and yeah, maybe play some Galaga. God, he wishes he could grab a smoke somewhere.)

Bruce shakes Tony’s hand, their first physical contact, and yeah, okay, maybe there could be something between them.

“... And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

Or maybe not. Maybe Tony just lives with his foot in his mouth, because Bruce wants to fall through the floor and The Other Guy wants to punch Tony Stark through a window.

“Shall we play, Doctor?”

Bruce is surprised when the words stir something deep in his center. He hasn’t played doctor in… No, that is not at all what Tony is propositioning. Though that proposition isn’t unwelcome entirely… No, get it together, Bruce. They have a problem to solve and Banner very much needs all his blood in his brain.  Needs to focus on the task at hand and not on his hands on his new soulmate; either of them really, Bruce isn’t picky. It’s not like they would appreciate his hands on them anyway; not when lurking just below the surface is The Other Guy.  

Bruce motions for Tony to precede him, needs a moment to get his blood pressure under control and reduce the swelling in his pants.  

(Hugh goes back to playing Galaga.)

 

~*~

 

“Agent Barton was sent to kill me, he made a different call.”

She doesn’t tell Loki that the reason Clint made that different call is because they’ve got each others words inked on their skin. It’s not a lie when she tells him it’s not love that has her interrogating Loki; it’s way deeper than that. Of course she loves Clint, and of course she is going to lie like the Red Room taught her about it, but their bond means so much more; even more than just a soulbond alone is supposed to mean. He brought her in from the cold; saved her from herself and her inevitable self destruction.  

He plays right into her hand and she gets the information she needs. Quickly she’s rushing to Bruce, had been so worried after Clint that she didn’t notice the chess pieces moving perfectly in favor of Loki unleashing The Other Guy. She’s kicking herself, because even though it’s fresh, she’s mortified that she let her soulmate walk into a trap. They don’t know each other well enough yet for him to trust her that he needs to step back and the fight escalates quickly; the whole team at each other over petty bullshit and misunderstandings and high tension.

She rolls her eyes, her training literally preparing her for situations like this, but no one else in the room has that benefit. Banner picks up the scepter, asks her if she wants to know his secret; there’s that word again; she already knows _‘avoiding stress isn’t the secret’_. She supposes that she should probably trust him if he is going to trust her, if their soulbond is going to blossom like she can already feel in her chest she’d like it to. But Natasha doesn’t really do Trust, at least not like other people do. The Red Room turned her into a monster in more ways than one…

A distraction, a dejected walk across the room, and she follows behind him, not knowing what kind of comfort she can offer, what kind he will let her, with the rest of them still arguing and testing each other like children in the background.  

Then they fall through the floor.  

 

~*~

 

“Had to fight two soulmates today.

“The other guy have a knot on his head this big?”

“He’s busy being The Other Guy right now. If he comes back, you can ask him.”

“Jesus, Natasha...”

“There’s more… Coulson… Loki killed him. In the moment I got you back, we lost him. I’m so sorry, Clint.”

 

~*~

 

Steve is very careful who he exchanges words with from the moment he steps on the aircraft carrier. Then he’s not so careful with the words he exchanges with them once he knows they aren’t bonded. Tony in particular is driving him up the wall. Would gladly return to his frozen nightmare, wishes he never left the Retreat, is trying desperately to hold on to some semblance of normal, failing anyway.

He’s not the only one on the boat with an anger problem. Also, it turns out, not a boat.

Yeah, normal is long gone.  

So he trades words with Tony. Then trades life saving favors.  

After, he’s the last one sitting at the table. The rest are scattered, some literally to the wind. And one, one he hardly knew, may as well be scattered ashes. He goes and finds a punching bag, breaks it, then heads in the direction of Clint’s cell. They have a problem to fix.

 

~*~

 

Hugh plays Galaga. Kila drinks Tony’s scotch on the StarkJet. Darcy hacks past SHEILD.

Tony, Steve, Clint, the rest, they save the world.

Thor leaves. Jane gives up.

Clint, Natasha, Hugh, the rest of SHIELD, bury Coulson.  Sharon Carter stands in the back, watches Fury and Clint give eulogies, Hugh place a solid hand on Clint’s shoulder, Natasha standing at his back and to his right, completely stoic but somehow soft. Steve doesn’t go, but does let Fury bring him in after. Moves to DC.

Kila pops mystery pills in clubs between cigarettes, between lines, between lovers she doesn’t tell Hugh about. Between cups of tea, between cigarettes, between work, between Pepper and Tony.  

Darcy collapses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the r/fanfiction discord chat for one word prompts included: essence, space, inevitable.


	8. This was no Accident, This was a Therapeutic Chain of Events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Camisodo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csNwIk3DL28) Panic! At The Disco. 
> 
> Further suggested listening:  
> [Soulmate & Cigarettes](http://spoti.fi/2tmp62N) (Playlist) on Spotify ; Smash that Shuffle button.

Darcy wakes up slowly. There’s an IV in her arm and the sheets are scratchy, so she assumes she’s in the hospital. She tries to blink away her blurry vision, giving up and rubbing her hand into them. Winces when the IV pulls against the movement. Supposes that all that Not Eating has finally caught up to her.

It’s then that she notices Kila on the vinyl couch. She’s tapping furiously with her thumbs on her phone and has a laptop in her lap, Birkin beside her with a tablet lying on top of it, its screen also illuminated.

“You didn’t have to bring your whole office to my hospital room just because I had a little fainting spell,” Darcy tells her soulmate.

Kila looks up, clearly shocked to see her awake, and quickly shuffles all the tech off to the side so she can pull the rolling stool over to her bed.

“Eh, I actually get more done here than at the Tower, what with it being all blown up and all,” she tells her.  

It’s a lie, of course, because she would really prefer her multiple monitors and her gushy desk chair to juggling multiple devices and a cheap, easily disinfected couch, but it wasn’t just a ‘little fainting spell’, so here she is anyway.  

“I was with Jane, checking on Selvig, and then…”

“Yep, Jane’s been in and out between visiting the both of you. Selvig is recovering as well as could be expected, what with the magical brain washing and whatnot. You, however, are going into Recovery, Capital R, because now your anorexia secret is out and Jane is worried sick, and also I don’t think your doctor is going to release you unless you agree. Your treatment is covered on my SI insurance policy so I don’t want to hear anything about the bill. Here in New York for now, I have packets from three centers for you to choose from. Or you could stay here but the food sucks, and that’s the whole issue, isn’t it?”

Darcy just blinks at her a few times. Lets her head fall back with a thump against the bed.

“Can you eat for me too? I guess you’ve taken care of everything else.”

“No-can-do’s-ville, baby-doll. But I can give you some extra time before I tell the nurse you’re awake.”

Darcy sighs and rolls her eyes. This whole thing is quite tiresome and she thinks everyone is overreacting, because honestly she is fine thank you very much, and is feeling much better with a nap and some saline. Really, it’s so Not a Big Deal.  

Kila squeezes her hand and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I know it sucks. It’s gonna be okay, and you’ve got me and Jane and our whole bondgroup looking out for you and some of them are Avengers, so you’re in great hands.”  

Darcy doesn’t believe that she’s in good hands for one second. Jane is broken, has an even more broken Selvig to care for, and Kila’s got a glassy look in her eye that means she’s pilled out on something; Kila is probably the one that needs Recovery with a Capital R, but she’s a high functioning addict and isn’t stupid enough to let her habits result in her passing out somewhere obvious. Real fucking smooth, getting caught with her fingers down her throat, metaphorically at least.

“Sure,” she offers noncommittally.  

Kila knows she’s throwing up walls since she has to stop throwing up food. Tells her that she’ll give her a minute and grabs her phone, jacket, and smokes before leaving the room.

Darcy spends the entirety of Kila’s cigarette break staring at the white tiles of the ceiling. It’s probably one of the last moments to herself she’s going to get for a while. Next comes doctors and weigh ins and therapy and supervised meals and she would really rather have died instead.

 

~*~

 

They chivvy Steve into his costume. He won’t tell anyone, but he’s perfectly willing to martyr himself in the uniform for Phil Coulson (KIA). They stick him in front of a camera with a ‘teleprompter’. He’s fine not having to memorize the lines, and sends a prayer to God and whoever invented this teleprompter (Hubert Schlafly, he looks up later). They make him say all kinds of stuff, “Really?”, he asks. He reads on anyway, they’re there for several hours. If it will help the kids, he’s willing, though he’s not sure what they are teaching the children these days.

 

~*~

 

Visiting Darcy at the Ostroff Center is always taxing, but today was particularly bad. Her soulmate is on track to leave within the month, but Kila knows she’s faking her way through all of her therapy to get out sooner. It’s not like Darcy can’t go months without engaging in her disordered eating; Kila’s seen it first hand. Sophomore year passed with zero indication that Darcy had a problem. Okay, maybe she was just trying to hide it from Sharon, but still. Kila knows something is up because Darcy apparently has embraced every aspect of her recovery with aplomb. It’s damned odd. And unnerving.  

She’s lost in her thoughts about Darcy’s recovery, imminent release, and certain relapse, when she reaches MacLaren’s and nearly walks past it. Someone calls her name, dragging her out of it, and she finds Hugh raising a cigarette salute to her from across the street. She grins at him as he looks both ways and steps off the curb.

And gets hit by a bus.

The next several minutes pass in flashes. She calls 911. She’s on the other side of the street, so she must have crossed it. The bus driver is nearly hysterical. Hugh is trying to stand up, the stupid idiot, and she holds his shoulder to the ground. He still has his cigarette in his hand, so she takes it, almost takes a drag off of it out of habit, but it’s got blood on it, so she throws it in the gutter, littering be damned.  

“I’m fine,” he’s telling the paramedics, but No Fucking Way Mister, You are Going to the Hospital, You just got Hit by a Fucking Bus. He sighs and rolls his whole head with his eyes, and God Dammit Don’t Tempt Fate Hugh Hudson, You just got Hit by a Fucking Bus, roll your eyes at me all you want but Don’t Fucking Move Your Neck.

She’s out of breath like she’s the one that just got Hit by the Fucking Bus, and the paramedic is eyeing her like he might want to take her vitals too, so she gulps a deep breath and can’t really remember talking but here they are. Hugh is laying on the cot looking appropriately subdued though, so it must have gotten the point across whatever it was. She takes another, steadier breath, and follows to the ambulance.  

When they get to the hospital, a nurse shuffles her off to a nearby chair.  

She manages to get messages off to Darcy and Pepper before completely losing her shit. After crying from the stress of it all, she kicks herself and sends off a message to Clint as well. A different nurse comes to tell her that they’re taking Hugh into surgery with Dr. Strange and not to fret because he’s an excellent neurosurgeon.  

Kila doesn’t exchange words with the doctor after, but gives him a very pointedly thankful look. He returns it with a deferential nod. With some physical therapy, Hugh is going to be fine. Full recovery expected.  Clint arrives, but disappears again quickly after exchanging mostly looks with their soulmate. When he returns, he produces some SHIELD branded sweats and a t-shirt from out of thin air, says their ride is on the way.  

She doesn’t get the chance to work from Hugh’s hospital room on account of Clint whisking him off to SHIELD to do his PT instead of at the hospital like normal people. Kila doesn’t really understand it, says as much, but Hugh just tells her it’s classified and that’s the end of that. Clint, to his credit, looks sympathetic and appropriately sheepish as he wheels him out to the curb and waiting medical van.

At least she’s not stuck holding the bill for this soulmate’s recovery.

 

~*~

 

Hugh passed this basic combat class when he was a recruit, but is back on account of the fact he got hit by a bus. His recovery is going well and he thinks it’s dumb that he has to pass it again just because he recently had to relearn how to use his legs, but if he wanted to ask questions or argue about protocols, he wouldn’t have joined the military. The instructor is new though. Blond, too buff, way nicer cut jaw than Hugh.

“Who’s Mister Chisel Chest?” he asks to no one in particular.

“That’s Captain Chisel Chest to you,” the blond responds.  

“Captain… America?” he chokes out, realization dawning.  

“The very same. Now, if you will all find your partners, today we’re covering…”

Hugh has tuned him out by this point, is just staring at his soulmates back. Steve is demonstrating a maneuver with another group. Hugh’s back hits the mat. He stares up at his partner’s self-satisfied grin. Even with the whole recently relearning to use his legs thing, his partner hasn’t put his back on the mat once until today.

“Cap got you star struck, Hudson?”

Not Captain America, he thinks, just his soulmate. One in the same. He spares one more glance toward Steve before responding.

“Something like that...”

Then he puts his partner on the mat.

After class, Steve leaves before Hugh can catch up to him. Breaks every single one of his knuckles against a punching bag. Hugh breaks two of his punching a concrete wall.

 

~*~

 

“How’d your meeting with Killian go?”

“He showed me his brain.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Then Tony got me a twenty foot tall stuffed rabbit.”

“Again, I say, what??"

“To top it all off, he greeted me on Date Night with an empty suit that then tried to kill me in my sleep a few minutes ago.”

“Pepper. For the love of Thor, please elaborate because none of this is making any sense."

“He’s not stable since New York. He told me he is barely hanging on and only is doing so well because I moved in, but this is just… I don’t know if I can handle it, Kila.”

“If this is Tony ‘doing well’, I kind of have to agree with you. Maybe you should come to New York for a few days, get away, intimidate a few contractors at the Tower for me…”

“As annoyed as I am with Tony, I can’t ditch him. It’s Christmas.”

“Damn. I could use some backup.”

They ring off with encouragements and platitudes, promises of pictures of the giant rabbit.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Kila’s so mad she could spit, preferably on Tony Fucking Stark, who just broadcast his and Pepper’s address taunting The Mandarin. She’s already packing a bag for Malibu when JARVIS pushes a live broadcast to her phone. Watches as her soulmates home collapses into the Pacific Ocean. Her stomach drops, but if there’s anything she learned binge watching Lost, it’s to count to five.

 

1… 2… 3… 4… 5.

 

She calls a car to take her to JFK. Stuffs anything remotely useful looking in her bag, and clicks on sure heels out to the curb. Half of her meeting schedule is already sorted and rearranged by the time the car pulls up, and the rest is dealt with between her apartment and the airport.  

She’s in the air when JARVIS notifies her that he’s lost communication with Ms. Potts.

“For fucks’ sake,” she swears. Then she swallows a bar of Xanax with the third travel sized cheap white wine she bribed the stewardess for.

Happy’s in the hospital, so she heads there. The Malibu mansion is in the ocean, Tony Stark is presumed dead, Pepper Potts is missing, and she doesn’t have an office here. It seems presumptuous to use Pepper’s given her kidnapping, even though Kila is definitely needed to help put out the fires that will come along with this Mandarin Fiasco.  

So she works from Happy’s hospital room. She keeps winding up working in hospital rooms, and she’s got a system, sure, but Thor-dammit, she is getting sick of hospitals. For starters, all the nurses give her dirty looks for her frequent cigarette breaks, some even go far as to hand her pamphlets. She wants to tell them her addiction is fate and to back the hell off, but she’s got her Stark Industries badge on to appease a near-comatose Happy Hogan, so she cools her jets and just offers a contrite smile instead.

JARVIS is very little help. They have a good rapport, but she doesn’t have the clearance for a lot of what she wants to know, and no where near the clearance for the things the AI wants to tell her. JARVIS would really like to help more, offer small condolences to her, but he’s virtually gagged. Kila continues to slog through what she can, and JARVIS does assist her in this task. Keeps a steady stream of work and things that need physical signatures pushed to her virtual desk.  

She’s asleep with her face pressed against the corner of her tablet when Tony rescues Pepper in Florida. JARVIS rings her phone with a message that they’re all in the clear. Except, they’re not really and again, Kila is spending weeks in hospitals while Tony susses out exactly what’s wrong with Pepper, calls in an adequate surgeon to fix it, and gets himself through a lengthy operation to remove the shrapnel in his chest.  

Kila is pretty sure she could work out of any room under the sun at this point, and may in fact get a skill bonus for the room being in a hospital, but Kila has grown to loathe her transient hospital room offices all the same.  

After she observes Pepper’s surgery alongside Tony, there’s a noticeable bump in her SI credit card limit and JARVIS is considerably less tight-lipped when responding to her inquiries. She has the tact to not ask directly about either of these things. When Kila observes Tony’s surgery alongside Pepper, the appreciation afterwards isn’t as grandiose but it is also more personal; there’s a bottle of champagne and a handwritten note in her hotel room the next day. She’s not sure which of them is responsible, but less than a month after everyone’s been discharged, there’s also an office at Stark Industries: Malibu with her name on the plaque.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a 5+1 if you squint. Steve's first POV is a drabble. I failed to include any of the prompts I intended to and nearly could not pick a line from Camisado because they are all applicable. I left readers hanging on that cliff for 55 days, but I hope you'll forgive me. <3


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